


Nocturne

by pocketedwocket



Category: Preacher (TV)
Genre: Drug Use, Fix-It, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-12
Updated: 2018-09-12
Packaged: 2019-07-11 08:18:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,198
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15968405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pocketedwocket/pseuds/pocketedwocket
Summary: Fix-it fic with an alternate timeline after season 3, episode 8.What could Eccarius possibly say to convince Cassidy that things could be different?





	Nocturne

“Three hundred years and not one shopping mall?”

Eccarius looked offended. “I import my finery from boutiques in Europe. My clothes are made of only the most expensive Italian lace,” he insists.

“Your finery?” Cass repeats, incredulous. Cassidy found the other vampire’s fashion sense sort of weirdly sexy, but he wondered what the guy would look like in something more modern. So he says as much. 

“I’m taking you shoppin’,” he decides. Two hours later, they’re in a shopping center on the banks of the Mississippi. Cass picks out a few things for him, loading his open arms with clothing, and sends him into the dressing room.

Cassidy lounges outside the dressing room, hands in his pockets, waiting.

“Okay,” comes Eccarius’ voice through the stall. “Ready.”

Cass pushes the door in and steps in, not sure what to expect. Eccarius has his back to him and he’s facing the mirror, despite the lack of a reflection. The black leather pants are slung low on his hips, showing off a trim waist and a very shapely arse that Cassidy had yet to fully appreciate. The tank top showed off his muscled arms and broad shoulders. Best of all was Eccarius’ flowing black hair tied up at the back of his head, a messy bun that drew his hair away from his face and revealed his delicious neck. Cass had never noticed his neck before. It was always covered up with some kind of ruff or collar.

“Holy Man Bun,” Cass splutters, and Eccarius turns to face him.

“You don’t like it?” he asks, eyebrows furrowed in concern.

“Welcome to the 21st century,” says Cass with a grin, reaching a hand behind his back to slide the lock closed. He moves forward and sinks into Eccarius’ arms, eyes closing as they fall into a kiss. He gets his hands on Eccarius wherever he can, swiping a thumb against a collarbone, sliding nimble fingers underneath Eccarius’ top. “It’s not your Parisian fashion but it’s not half bad.”

Eccarius bends a little, sliding his hands down the backs of Cassidy’s thighs and scooping him up and backing him against the door. Cass loves this, the way Eccarius holds him, makes him feel slighter than he really is. Among Eccarius’ many talents was that he was a good kisser; Cassidy lets himself give in and crosses his ankles at the small of Eccarius’ back. The door shakes with an indiscreet bang.

Cass lets himself be kissed until he feels warm inside. “Take me home,” Cass whispers. Eccarius lets him stand up and he adjusts the front of his trousers. Eccarius beams at him, the corners of his eyes wrinkling happily. 

Cass slips on Eccarius’ coat. Eccarius tries to protest but Cass places a finger at his lips. “Shhh,” he says with a wink, opening the door for them both. They walk out confidently, and head straight for the exit, bypassing the register completely. 

They’re almost to the exit when Cass spots a sign for the food court. “Lesson number two,” he says, taking Eccarius by the hand and dragging him to the food court on a detour. They line up for ice cream. Cassidy is over a hundred years old but it’s stupid how young he feels at this moment, like it’s the first time he’s ever felt something like this. 

Cass tries not to stare at Eccarius lick at the tiger’s blood ice cream.

“Em… have you ever… have you ever thought about getting out of Mrs. Rosen’s basement?”

“Whatever do you mean?”

“A flat somewhere. Or a house of your own.”

He’d never had a reason to.

“Is that an invitation, Cassidy?”

“What if it was? What do you think?”

“I think it’s a splendid idea.” Eccarius bumps his knees against Cassidy’s under the table. 

“It doesn’t have to be a plantation on the bayou, or anythin’,” Cass says. “Forget about it.” He finishes his ice cream cone and licks his lips. “I want to see what those clothes look like on the floor.”

*

Cassidy woke up in one of the coffins in Mrs. Rosen’s basement; the last thing he remembered was finding Eccarius in the garage with the Grail agent that had been captured and turned by Les Enfants. Eccarius had thrown Cassidy against the wall and he’d blacked out.

They now stood at a distance from one another, arguing. Cassidy’s eyes are dark. Agitated, he crosses his arms against his chest.

“You’re a serial killer!”

“I am so much _more_ than that, Cassidy. Anyway, we’re vampires. It’s part of the job description.”

“Not like this.”

“Might I remind you that you were more than ready to kill Hoover?”

“That’s different,” Cass interjects. It was, wasn’t it? Hoover, along with the rest of the Grail, had tried to kill his friends. Whatever actions had been taken were merely payback.

“What if I gave it all up? We could go anywhere in the world. Leave it all behind.”

_Bloody big what if_ , Cass thinks to himself, although willing to entertain Eccarius for a moment. “Where would you go?”

“Anywhere. Argentina. Catalonia. Paris. Just give me a second chance,” Eccarius pleads.

Cassidy shakes his head. He lights a cigarette, fidgeting with the lighter. “Not Saxon-On-Thames?” Cass goads sharply.

“No,” Eccarius says firmly. Cass raises an eyebrow. “That’s a tale for another time. Forget Les Enfants. Forget all of this,” Eccarius continues softly. “You’re enough for me, Cassidy.” Eccarius takes Cassidy’s hand. “I’d do anything you asked of me.”

“What do ye want from me? I don’t have a bleedin’ code! There aren’t rules for this, you know.” Cass sighs.

“You don’t have to let me out of your sight.” His voice is worried, pleading. Eccarius usually maintained a calm, coy manner, playing his cards close to his chest. Now he was desperate, distressed. 

“Not what I bloody meant when I asked you to move in with me,” Cass mutters. 

“Three hundred years and I’ve never had anyone to care for. Not like this.”

“If you cared for me, mate, you wouldn’ta murdered all those innocent people,” Cass says bitterly, his accent thickening in irritability. “You’re sending me bloody mixed signals,” Cass complains. “How can I trust you?”

“You can’t really trust anybody,” Eccarius says. Was that supposed to be an excuse? “All of this was - is - _real_ , Cassidy!”

“I need to think,” Cassidy says, looking at the floor. He sits down backwards in a wooden chair and puts his face in his hands. _What happens to us_ , he wonders. Was there any point? Was he a fool for believing there could be an other side to this? There was no twelve step program for vampires. Vegan vampirism wasn’t really a thing, either.

“This is what you’ve been looking for all along. Someone to accept you and your flaws. Just accept me and mine.”

*

Cassidy is a man on a mission.

Cass manages to get shitfaced in about forty-five minutes. He’s not picky. He starts with liquor, going to work like it’s a competition: two bottles of Jack Daniels, six grams of coke, and three fat blunts, with some mystery substance sprinkled in one of them. He chases it with a few (eleven) beers, one right after another.

He’s a blithering fool by the time he returns to the basement, stumbling and moving around in the dark. He trips over his own feet at the bottom of the stairs and Eccarius is beside him in an instant, taking his arm and helping to hold him up.

“Come.” His voice is deep and reassuring. Cass lets it wash over him. Cassidy’s eyes close and he leans against Eccarius, who helps him over to a coffin. Cassidy’s feelings of shame are so thick and potent that Eccarius can sense it without even trying. 

“I disappointed you, and for that I am sorry,” Eccarius says. There’s only a minimal chance that Cassidy will remember his words the next morning. Cass looks like he’s passed out, giving zero sign that he hears the other vampire. “Can you ever forgive me?”

Cassidy starts to snore.

*

Cassidy dreams. He dreams of the thousands of nights he’s spent alone, knowing what it means to be doomed to be the only one of his kind. He dreams of the people he’s loved and put in the ground. He dreams of names on gravestones that fade away with the passage of time, rubbed down and weary. 

When he wakes with a start, he knows the decision he must make. He’s not giving in so easily this time. He’s going to fight this - because he can, because he remembers telling Jesse Custer not everyone can be fuckers, because Eccarius has gotten right into his heart. Accidents happen. 

What he doesn’t know is if the bubbling feeling at the bottom of his chest is hope or fear.

*

“What would you say to a change of scenery?”

“My mind is open.”

Eccarius produces something from his frock coat with a flourish.

“What’s this, then?” Cass stubs his cigarette out in an ashtray so that he can take a closer look, turning the papers over in his hands. They were plane tickets. Eccarius had called his bluff. 

“Jesus, you were serious.”

“I’ve found a little place in Haut Marais. Just past the Place de la République. We could be there in a week. How about it?”

Cassidy looks between back and forth between the expectant, eager look on Eccarius’s face and the plane tickets, thinking of all the tickets that were never purchased for flights that never existed. His mouth goes dry. He raises an eyebrow. “No strings attached, eh?”

“None. Well, heartstrings, maybe.” Eccarius has hopeful eyes. “A new life. Like you said. Come with me, Cassidy. You belong at my side.”

It seems the only thing standing between them is whether or not Cassidy believes he’s going to fuck this up or not.

“What the fuck. Okay.”

“Okay?” Eccarius repeats with excitement. He gathers Cassidy in his arms.

“So we’re really doin’ this.” 

“It has hardwood floors. Balcony. Clawfoot tub. A wrought iron spiral staircase.” Eccarius sings the place’s praises, all the while looking fondly at Cass. “It’s going to be perfect.”

“All right, darlin’,” Cass says, kissing him. Sometimes you had to say _fuck it_. There was obviously something between the two of them he couldn’t deny.

“That’s what I like to hear,” Eccarius jokes. “Instead of those other awful things.”

“Aw, when I have I ever called yeh something awful?”

Eccarius balks. “Cannibal, serial killer… George Washington.”

Cassidy blinks. So he did say a few rotten things to his boyfriend. “You’re right. I’ve been a right bastard,” he says, grabbing Eccarius’ velvet lapels and looking down at him with a very sarcastic glare. The nerve. Eccarius had been murdering people left and right, but he got sensitive over some nicknames. Jesus. Cass gives him an apologetic kiss anyway, which Eccarius accepts wholeheartedly. 

“I’m going to stop giving you reasons to call me those names,” Eccarius vows. He kisses Cass’ temple. Eccarius shifts and in an instant, there is a dark kitten at Cassidy’s toes. Cass scoops him up, putting down the tickets so he can cuddle the cat with more gusto.

“It’s impossible to be mad at yeh like this,” he complains, scratching the kitten’s chin instinctively. There’s a twinkle in the cat’s eye. It sparkled the same way Eccarius’ dark eyes did in the candlelight. Cass pulls Eccarius in his feline form to his chest. “You did this on purpose.” He showers him with attention until Eccarius is kneading him with his paws. “Listen. I’ve done things I’m not proud of,” he starts. “An’ if… if you had been there I wouldn’t have wanted yeh to see.” He starts to give Eccarius a list then thinks better of it. Maybe that was best saved for another time. Or not at all. The point is that he’s going to try to be less judgmental. “Can you tell me, all right?”

“Tell you what, Cassidy?”

“Tell me if you experience the… dark urgin’ or whatever the hell you call it. I’ll roll you a spliff or suck you off instead. Get it?”

Suddenly, Eccarius is no longer cat-shaped where he’s kneeling in front of Cassidy. He lays his head in Cassidy’s lap, long dark hair draping over the Irishman’s thighs. “Got it,” Eccarius replies.

Cass brings a hand to rest in his lover’s curls. 

“Good.”

*

Not a week later, they arrive in Paris. They waste no time getting to know their new territory.

The club is ultra dark, just the way Cass likes it. The sound system is booming Robin Thicke’s “When I Get You Alone”, his pop vocals playing against the Walter Murphy track, the sound of the early 2000s blending with the disco of the 1970s, and behind it all, the string arrangement by Beethoven. It’s obnoxious, which means Eccarius is probably miserable. Cass takes him by the hand and drags him through the nightclub anyway. 

Their ideas of vampire lives have been remarkably different up until this point, each of them now having set out to introduce the other to their lifestyle.

“Do you remember the 1970s?” Cass asks, taking a long drink from a flask he pulls from his pocket. He spins Eccarius around the room. His heart thunders along to the bassline. “It’s a bit foggy for me but I did enjoy meself. D’you remember those dance floors that would light up?” The Mod movement had given way to the hippies, and then punks. The air was different, changed, after 1967.

“I preferred Symphony No. 5,” Eccarius says instead, referencing the music. His lips brush against Cass’ ear when he leans forward to speak. “Vienna was beautiful in 1808.”

“You would,” Cass laughs, living in the moment. Sometimes he was hopeless. They dance until they can’t keep their hands off each other’s bodies, moving to the edge of the room so they can grope each other with more precision. “What about Quaaludes? D’you remember Quaaludes?” 

“Are you questioning my motives?” Eccarius says with a smirk. He flips his hair back and leans close to Cassidy’s ear. “Would I need to rely on a drug to take you home and fuck you senseless?” Eccarius whispers. Cass shakes his head.

“Let’s get the party started, m’lord,” he says, looking at Eccarius through seductive eyes.

Eccarius inhales sharply. “Say it again,” Eccarius insists, pupils dilating.

“My lord,” he repeats, lower, almost a purr. Eccarius shoves him against the wall for a dirty kiss. Cass surges against him, tangling his hands in his lover’s hair. He’s buzzing, unsure if it’s from the MDMA he dissolved in his beer an hour ago or from the obscene way Eccarius is kissing him.

“Take me home, handsome man.” 

Cass could get used to this.

*

It had been a long time since Cassidy had a place he could call his own. Their place is a little upstairs flat in le Haut Marais, tasteful but modest. Eccarius had driven Cass crazy with the interior design, between the home decor magazines and extensive shopping for frustrating odds and ends like door handles. “I trust you,” Cass had decided, kissing Eccarius squarely on the mouth and exiting, leaving him standing alone with one of his damned lists in the middle of the _quincaillerie_. 

As a result, the apartment’s design said mostly _Eccarius_. The drapes were rich red tapestries with gilded accents, and there was purple everywhere; lace and luxury. Their linens were lush fabrics and beautiful textures, crimson, gold, lavender. Eccarius probably called it a masterpiece; Cass called it a bloody cliché. Did he know how hard it was to get comestains off velvet?

“Was there a sale at Yankee Candle?” Cass had teased him. “You are going to burn this place down,” Cass accused playfully. Eccarius merely glared and produced another candelabra.

Cass inevitably found ways to make his presence known, however, and so there were obvious and eccentric flairs mixing in with Eccarius’ very Gothic aesthetic, like the oversized bean bag chair in the corner of the living room and the pink lava lamp on the bookshelf. Cass had also begged Eccarius for a very real bed next to the coffin. It’s unreasonably hard to tie someone to a coffin, after all.

Cassidy pulls out a pack of smokes and lights a cigarette. He leans against the wrought iron railing of the narrow balcony without realizing he’s being watched. He flicks a piece of ash from the end of his cigarette onto the cold, empty Paris street below. It’s a quiet evening in the neighborhood. The night is still young.

“What a view,” a deep, appreciative voice booms from the French doors. 

Cass looks from the street to Eccarius standing in the doorway. His eyes are fixed only on Cassidy, rather than the cityscape in front of them. A smile threatens Cassidy’s face at Eccarius’ flirting, but he quickly hides it from view with his hand by lifting his cigarette to his mouth. Eccarius can be incredibly flattering even without the influence of his powers.

Cass holds his cigarette out for Eccarius, smoke curling in the air between them, but he declines with a pursed lip and the slightest shake of his head. “Those things will kill you.”

“You’re funny,” Cass says, taking another hit. Eccarius steps up behind him and slides his strong arms around Cassidy. Pulling the other vampire against his chest, he rests his chin on Cass’s shoulder and looks down at the twinkling colors of Haut Marais. 

“Thank you,” Eccarius says, possessed by a sudden unusual vulnerability. 

“This is your doing,” Cass says absently. He can’t read anyone’s mind but he’s pretty sure that’s not really what Eccarius means. He dunks his cigarette butt into an empty glass bottle on the railing.

“You know what I mean.” He squeezes Cass a bit tighter, warming him up in the crisp air. Eccarius inhales, pressing his nose to that spot just behind Cass’ ear, letting Cassidy’s scent fill his nostrils. Cass has given him a second chance, a new life, something bold and strange and satisfying. 

Cass takes a deep breath and relaxes against Eccarius as they quietly survey the sleepy moonlit scene in front of them. “Aye,” he confirms softly. 

“Besides, it’s _our_ doing, don’t you think?” Eccarius asks him, without really expecting an answer.

*

It was hard for anyone to party and keep a steady pace with Cass, let alone someone who had never tried any illicit substances until they had met. It _was_ , however, madly endearing watching Eccarius try to keep up.

Eccarius is a lightweight no matter how much he tries to pretend otherwise. Cass holds his hair back as he throws up, brushing the dark strands away from his pale face. He’d never done this for anyone. Cass missed the days when a single joint could provide relief and a bottle of wine could have an effect with just a few sips. Seeing Eccarius like this reminded him of youth so many decades ago. Oh, to be off his head like that again. 

“Wait right here,” Cass says, making sure Eccarius is leaning safely against the tiled wall. When he returns he has a small pipe in his hand and a lighter. He sits next to Eccarius on the floor. “Have some of this, if yeh can handle it. It’ll help.” He holds the bowl up for Eccarius, who shakily takes it from him. 

“Really?”

“Aye. Calms yer stomach.” Cass lights the bowl for him. Another little endearing trait that might get old fast, but for now, it was sweet (even though Cass has no idea how Eccarius has lived for three centuries and can’t light a bowl). He might have to learn one day, but tonight was not that night. Eccarius inhales and starts coughing up a storm.

Cass fumbles above their heads for something on the bathroom counter, pulling down a glass bottle. He twists the top off and takes a large swig.

“Is that whiskey or cologne?”

Cass finishes his gulp. There’s only a small amount of liquid remaining. “Cologne.”

“Ugh,” Eccarius winces. They pass the bowl back and forth a few times. 

Once he looks stable, Cass hoists Eccarius up by his arms. “All right?” he checks. Cass walks him to the bedroom and gets him under the covers. Cass tucks him in, pulling the sheets up and sitting beside him.

“I’m sorry.”

“You got nothin’ to be sorry for,” Cass says, passing him the bowl again. “You were only trying to have some fun with me.” He pulls Eccarius to his chest, brushing a piece of hair away from his cheek. “Don’t worry about keeping up with me, okay, darlin’?” He leans his cheek against Eccarius’ head. 

“Did I tell you about the time I was a caddy? They gave me the Dalai Lama himself. Twelfth son of the Lama. Flowing robes, bald, the grace… all of it. I’m on the first tee with him so’s I give him the driver. He whacks one into a huge crevasse. And you know what the Lama says?”

He talks until Eccarius looks sleepy in his arms.

“He says _gunga, galunga, gunga, gunga-lagunga_. So we finish and he’s gonna stiff me. I say ‘Hey Lama, how about somethin’ for the effort?’ And he says ‘Oh, there won’t be any money, but when you die, on your deathbed, you will recieve total consciousness.’”

Cassidy nudges Eccarius. He’s still. None of this had actually happened to him, of course. He’d never been a caddy. It was a joke he’d lifted from _Caddyshack_ , but Cass was willing to bet that Eccarius was completely unaware of the difference.

“So I got that going for me, which is nice,” he finishes. “Sweet dreams.”

*

The newscaster on the television mentions a murder, taking place, coincidentally, in the very same neighborhood they were in last night. “Reports say the body was drained of blood with almost surgical precision.” Cass turns the volume up, but Eccarius appears in front of him, a glimmer in his eye. His face blocks the light of the television, catching him off guard. An attractive smile crosses his features.

“There you are.”

Eccarius pushes Cass down onto the sofa, distracting him with a kiss. His red silk nightgown falls open slightly and Cass can’t help but take a peek, tugging him closer.

He tucks his face into Eccarius’ neck when the other man pulls him into a half embrace.

“You look happy,” Eccarius points out warmly. Cass thinks about it for a second.

“I guess I am,” he replies, realizing it for the first time. “That’s new.” 

There’s a second kiss, and a third, and soon enough the news report is forgotten.

*

When they finish making love on the couch, Eccarius reaches out and takes a sip of Cass’ drink.

“This is. Mm. What vintage is this?” Eccarius asks, sipping deeply.

“Oh boy,” Cass says, quickly taking the cup away from Eccarius and putting it out of reach. ”How much did you drink?” On second thought, he picks up the teacup and drains it. Just in case. 

“What? Why?”

“There’s a pretty wicked dose of GHB in there.”

“What’s a GHB? Should I be worried?”

“You might want to sit down.” As if on cue, Eccarius wavers. His eyelids get droopy and he sinks backwards against Cass.

“All right, luv?” Cass asks, reaching out and catching him.

Cass loops Eccarius’ arm around his neck. “Let’s get you to bed.” He puts his arm around Eccarius’ waist, letting Eccarius place all of his weight on him. He helps him stagger to the bedroom. 

“How ya feeling?”

“Mmf,” Eccarius slurs. His dark eyes reflect the candlelight.

“Right,” he gets him into the bed. He’ll have to catch up. He starts getting rid of Eccarius’ waistcoat and shirt.

“I have the strength to kill you at any time but I _love_ you,” Eccarius slurs. 

“Well that’s fuckin’ lovely,” Cass smirks. He put a finger to Eccarius’ lips to silence him. It was sort of sweet, if you looked at it from a strange angle. People have whispered worse drunken things in his ear.

*

“I didn’t know I could still get a hangover,” Cas drawls, trying to sit up. Eccarius sits down next to him and pushes him back down with a hand to his shirtless chest. Somehow he’d still managed to wake first despite having more than his fair share of Cass’ substances. 

“You look wretched. You need to regain your strength,” Eccarius insists. He holds his wrist in front of Cassidy. “Drink.” Cass takes his wrist in his hand, slowly at first as if to consider it, before puncturing the pale skin with his sharp fangs. He drinks for a long moment, letting the blood restore him. He laps at the skin when he’s had his fill, licking up every precious last drop of blood. “There you go, my love. A healthy breakfast,” Eccarius says with a smirk. Cass softly drags his tongue across the skin until the two puncture marks heal themselves, tiny wounds disappearing into Eccarius’ skin. 

Cass turns over on his side. It’s strange, having someone pick up the pieces like this. It’s a lot harder to destroy yourself when someone else is actually trying to put you back together.

*

Cass fixes himself a glass of red wine, leaning against the doorway. He watches Eccarius read, taking in the slow domestic moment with curious affection as he sips from his glass. It takes a few moments for Eccarius to notice him staring and look up, a charming smile crossing his features. Cass smiles back, running a hand through his unruly hair.

“What are ye reading?” Cass asks.

“ _Wuthering Heights_.”

“You kiddin’?” He narrows his eyes. “The Kate Bush song?”

“It’s a love story,” Eccarius says, defending the book. “Sort of.” He places a bookmark in the novel to mark his spot, closing it and setting it on the sofa. “Is there anything worth doing without love?” Eccarius asks matter-of-factly.

Cass purses his lips and asks “Is that what you think?”

“That there’s nothing in this mortal world worth having in the absence of love?”

“No. That you love me.”

Eccarius pauses. “I haven’t told you yet. You couldn’t tell?” Clearly he didn’t remember his little threat from last night. He’d been dropping hints at it since… well, since the beginning.

“No. Yes. Maybe.” Cass sighs. “After the apartment, Paris…. I had an idea. Lovesickness… gives pale complexion, depraved appetite, grief, insatiable hunger, melancholy, insomnia… But I’m not exactly the king of relationships.” 

“Those are the same symptoms of being a vampire.”

“Coulda just been really good sex.” Cass shrugs. This whole situation felt like a holiday that never seemed to end.

“You’re so much better than that, Cassidy.”

“The first thing you showed me was your lack of gag reflex, you dirty man!”

“Can you blame me? Look at you!”

“What was I supposed to think?”

“For so long I have possessed not love; merely the memory of it,” Eccarius waxes poetic. “Then you came along and now that fount freely flows.”

Kneeling before Cass, he gently pulls Cass’ hand to him until Cass’ arm is extended in front of his body. He places a kiss in the center of his palm.

Moving his mouth to Cass’ wrist, Eccarius ghosts his lips over the skin. He traces the dark lines of Cassidy’s tattoos with his thumb, barely touching the designs. Eccarius is fascinated with Cass’ tattoos and he shows Cass how much he appreciates them as often as he can. He works his way up, reading the skin, learning every detail on Cass and committing it to memory. He moves higher up Cass’ arm, kissing first the cross, then the shamrock and the crown, and lavishing special attention to the letter E on Cass’ right shoulder. This one is his favorite.

“You like that one, eh?” Cass asks, catching onto his boyfriend’s movements after a few seconds. 

“I like all of them,” he corrects. “But yes, I’ve a special fondness for this one.” He follows the lines of the E with his tongue - slow, gentle strokes that make Cass groan. “You drive me mad,” he whispers. “Why don’t we test said gag reflex out? Make sure things are still in working order?” 

Cass grins. “Your dirty talk needs some work.”

Eccarius bends between Cass’ sprawled legs. “I’d like to suck you off now.” He unzips Cass’ pants and shimmies them off, pulling them down his lanky legs. 

“Oh. Forget I said anythin’,” Cass says dumbly, helping Eccarius get his pants off and leaning his head back on the sofa. His breath catches in his throat when Eccarius takes him into his mouth. He slides two warm hands across Cass’ thighs, letting them come to rest on his slim hips. His silky tongue works magic on Cass. Eccarius builds up his attentions, driving Cass to the edge. “God, I love you,” slips out of Cass’ mouth. Eccarius teases him some more, mouthing a kiss on Cassidy’s thigh. _He’s the best_ , Cassidy thinks, _the only_. 

Eccarius finishes him off, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Fangs that close to Cassidy’s dick shouldn’t be sexy but here they are.

After Eccarius licks him clean, Cass beckons him onto the red tufted velvet sofa, giving him a long, sated and drowsy kiss. He draws Eccarius under his arm, playing with his hair, running his long fingers through it. Eccarius smells like coconut and sex and best of all, like his own kind. Eccarius’ scent is so unmistakenly vampiric. It’s resplendent.

Eccarius leans up and sniffs Cassidy’s neck, breathing deeply. He touches the tip of his nose to Cass’s chin.

“Are you readin’ my thoughts?” Cass asks. 

”I don’t really have to,” Eccarius says. “I can hear you thinking. You’re just a little bit loud.” He re-settles against Cass’ chest. “I like that about you. Always so honest. Open. You don’t hide any of it.”

“I am what I am, love,” Cass says, smiling into Eccarius’ hair. 

*

“I meant what I said,” Cass says later that night, when they’re tangled in each other’s arms in the shadows. “I need you.”

“And you shall have me, beloved,” Eccarius tells him, kissing his lips. 

*

Cass puts the kettle on, digging in the cupboard for a box of Twining’s. He flips on the television while he waits for the water to boil. It’s just about time for the local news.

The newscaster says something about a string of murders in the 3rd arrondissement - bodies drained of all their blood, left to rot and decay in the sun. No suspects. It sounds all too familiar for Cassidy’s liking. 

“Eccarius?” he says, looking around the flat and realizing that it’s empty.

His blood pressure rises with the high-pitched whistle of the kettle. Cass watches the entire report, switching the television off at the end of the broadcast.

*

Regardless of paranoia and what are, at this point, unfounded suspicions, Cass couldn’t deny his attraction to the vampire he now lived with. Eccarius was handsome and charming enough to make Cass forget that he had tried to beat the shit out of him twice now, most of the time.

Cass and Eccarius are kissing in the dark, groping each other over their clothing. 

Cass starts unbuttoning his waistcoat (he’s not wearing anything underneath it, Eccarius notices delightfully). Eccarius dramatically throws a hand out to stop him. “How dare you deny me the opportunity?” He starts to move painfully slow, at mortal speed, divesting Cass of his clothing. Eccarius kisses his chest, large hands brushing over his body, continuing his ministrations until Eccarius has Cassidy spread out on the bed, naked, wanton.

Eccarius straddles him, sliding a hand across the magpie on Cass’ chest. He places a hand at Cass’ throat, warm fingers gripping just enough to put pressure on his skin. The light in Cass’ eyes goes dark, and in one painful fleeting moment, Cass is suddenly aware he’s very much _not_ over Eccarius trying to kill him. 

He tenses, throwing a hand between their chests. Eccarius, who suddenly seems heavier, moves instinctively to pin down his wrists, throwing his hands down at his sides. Cass resists.

“Whoa,” Cass says, and Eccarius backs off Cass immediately as if repelled. “Look, mate,” Cass tries to explain, forcing himself to relax. He rubs at his wrists the entire time he talks. He feels his fangs retract - when did those appear?

The distance between them suddenly feels like miles. 

“I want nothing more than to be good for you,” Eccarius says quietly. “And instead I’m rotten. I’m sorry.” 

“You made a mistake,” Cass says. A couple hundred mistakes. Mistakes that had names. Names like Deng and Lisa. “You don’t have to keep apologizing.” He had a lifetime to forget.

They laid awake side by side, unmoving, staring at the ceiling.

*

A night later, Eccarius disappears late in the evening yet again. _Back later_ , a note says in fancy handwriting, no explanation given. There’s a pipe full to the brim with weed sitting on top of it, which is a nice touch. 

Cass tries not to think about it, getting stoned and accidentally cleaning the flat instead. He pulls on a pair of yellow latex gloves that go almost to his elbow. He inspects the dust with vigor. Anything to think about something other than Eccarius, where he is and what he’s doing with his time.

That night, while he’s wiping down the bookshelf, a report comes on the radio. Body #6 has been found. He tries to distract himself by rearranging some of the volumes on the shelf. A black book with a red spine that said only _ABZ_ on the cover. A worn copy of E.M. Forster’s _A Passage to India_. A leather-bound edition of _The Picture of Dorian Gray_.

He pulls that one down, opens it to a random page and reads aloud: “ _I want the dead lovers of the world to hear our laughter and grow sad._ ” 

Cass makes a sour face and slides the book back on the shelf. Unappealing.

Cass doesn’t say hello when a key turns in the door and Eccarius enters the room. The wine stain on the kitchen counter suddenly becomes fascinating. He scrubs harder, pressing the rag into the stain until his knuckles turn white. 

“Cassidy,” Eccarius says, pointedly making eye contact as he pulls off his gloves and sets them on the countertop. Cass nods his head without saying anything. Eccarius sighs. “Good night.”

*

Cass can’t take it any longer when he finally confronts Eccarius. 

“Was it you?”

“Was what me?” Eccarius asks for clarification. 

“Don’t play stupid,” Cass spits, fisting his hands in Eccarius’ jacket. He can’t ignore the sinking feeling in his stomach any longer. “Don’t play _me_.” His grip tightens. “Six victims. Drained of blood. It’s sort of a signature, don’t you think?”

“Is this serious?” He reaches up to where Cass’ hands are balled in his coat, peeling up his fingers one by one. This had been simmering between them for some time, some kind of suspicion, some decay of affection causing Cass’ heart to slowly turn. Eccarius had sensed it. “I gave you my word.”

“Is that what all this is for?” Cass hollers. “A distraction? Somethin’ shiny to throw me off the scent? To make me feel like a kept animal? A pet?” Eccarius looks devastated at Cass’ words. Knowing he deserves this for what he’s done doesn’t make it hurt any less.

“You’re no pet, Cass,” he says. “I’ll tell you again. It’s real. All of it.” He moves to take Cass’ hand in his own but Cass steps back, avoiding the motion. “You suffer needlessly. Why can’t you see the world out there doesn’t matter?”

*

“Bloody hell,” Cass says when he walks into their flat. There’s a young man with shaggy blonde hair tied to a chair in the living room. “You brought him here?” Cass asks, disgusted.

“You know who this is?” Eccarius asks him. Cass doesn’t answer. “Michel Olivier.”

“Is that supposed to mean somethin’?” Cass says, frowning. As far as he knew that was a champagne. “He’s human.” He puts his hands on his hips, judging the scene in front of him.

The guy in the chair looks nervously between the two of them. 

“You misunderstand,” Eccarius says. 

“No, I think I can see what’s going on.”

“This is him, Cassidy! The murder at Musée des Arts et Métiers, the body left at Saint-Louis Hospital. He did it. He killed them all.”

Cassidy takes a step back. “What?”

“I tracked him down. Brought him here,” Eccarius explains. He takes Cass’ hand in his own. “I know you think I killed those people.”

Cass swallows. “Yeah, I kinda did.”

Eccarius strokes the back of his hand with his thumb. “I made a promise. One I plan on keeping.” 

Cass doesn’t know what to say. He kisses him instead. 

The captive mumbles underneath his duct tape.

“There would have been a seventh victim tonight had I not apprehended him,” Eccarius says. 

“What was your plan once yeh got him here?” Cass asks. 

“I hadn’t thought that far ahead,” Eccarius says.

Cass strips the duct tape from the man’s mouth. “Any ideas?”

“You better kill me, you fucking faggots,” he spits in French. 

“I think I caught a naughty word in there,” Cass says. He can’t speak French very well, but he’s had a lifetime to be insulted in various languages. He’s familiar with a few.

“The way I see it, we can turn him in, which will arouse a great deal of unwanted attention upon us, or we can settle this another way… and have our way with him.”

“I said kill me, faggot,” the prisoner repeats in English. Cass puts the tape back on his mouth. He bares his teeth, fangs becoming visible. 

“If you thought that was bad… wait and see,” Cas threatens. A shiver runs down Eccarius’ spine when he sees Cassidy’s fangs. “Eccarius. A word.” They meet in the hall and speak in hushed tones.

“We should turn him into the police.”

“He’s seen us. He knows our names.”

“But that’s all. Right, Eccarius?”

Eccarius frowns, looking guilty. “Well, technically it’s kidnapping. And I might have flown a little.”

“Great. You _might_ have flown a little. Anything else?”

At that moment, a clang comes from across the room. They dash back, only to find the chair toppled over. Something rushes them from the side. 

Cass blinks, vision hazy for a second. The man had somehow managed to knock Eccarius flat to the floor. 

“Now ye’ve done it,” Cass snarls, and his fangs extend. He lunges at the man who has escaped his bonds. He dodges, and Cass knocks into the stereo.

While he’s right there, Cassidy turns the stereo on and ratchets the volume up. No point in arousing the interest of their downstairs neighbors with a racket. The radio station is playing Michael Jackson’s “Smooth Criminal”. The loud music rouses Eccarius, who is back on his feet in no time.

Are you okay, Annie?

Cass punched the blonde in the stomach and he keels forward. Spit drips from his mouth and Cass spins him around, as if dancing, and thrusts him toward Eccarius in one coordinated motion. Eccarius punches him in the face. He’s knocked back by the force of the hit. Cass catches him by the elbows and drags him across the floor. 

Woozy, the man tries to stand. He reaches for a knife in his pocket.

Annie, are you okay? So Annie, are you okay? Are you okay, Annie?

Cass picks up a Tiffany lamp to smash across the man’s head. As he raises it in the air, something catches his wrist. Eccarius frowns and holds up an empty whiskey bottle, taking the lamp from Cass’ hand and replacing it quickly. Cass shrugs and finishes his task, glass shattering as it connects with the man’s skull. Blood starts dripping from a gash above his eyebrow. He swings blindly at Cass, landing a punch on his chin.

A second later, Eccarius is ready again with the rope. Cass holds the man up by his collar, kneeing him in the gut when he lunges for Eccarius. He bashes the man’s head into the wall and yanks him back up. Eccarius quickly ties his hands up behind his back.

Annie, are you okay? Will you tell us that you’re okay?

The last thing the prisoner sees is Cass’ fist flying straight at his face. He slumps. Cass drags him into a kneeling position on the floor. 

Eccarius joins Cass on the other side of their unconscious captive, helping Cass hold up his weight. He licks the tip of his own fang before fisting a hand in Cass’ collar, dragging him over the man for a kiss. “After you,” he beckons. 

Cass sinks his teeth into the man’s neck and a second later Eccarius joins him, biting the other side of his neck. They drink together, the man’s heartbeat pounding. Eccarius stops first, pulling back and watching Cass suck the rest of the man’s life away. He releases his hold on their prey to stroke Cass’ arm, then slips his hand underneath Cass’ shirt, pressing his palm flat against Cass’ bare skin. His hand is warm and reassuring. 

“Drink. Take your fill,” he encourages, watching Cass closely. To see Cassidy in action was exhilarating. Cass drinks deeply, spurred on by Eccarius’ hand on his lower back.

Cass finishes drinking with a gasp. He exhales and turns to Eccarius, who surges forward, taking Cass by the jaw and kissing him soundly. Blood drips out of their mouths as they make out. 

Cass knocks the body away so he can move closer to Eccarius. Blood wets his hands, the front of his t-shirt, his mouth. Eccarius licks the blood that stains Cass’ lips. How Eccarius had longed to do this, to kill with his love, to feed together, and now they’d had their chance. Cass snarls into the kiss, grabbing Eccarius by the throat and dragging him down. Eccarius’ fingers flex against his spine. 

“What do you say we ditch this fella?”

Eccarius responds by standing up and pulling Cass up with him, unable to stop himself from taking his face in his hands and kissing him again, savoring the taste of fresh blood in his mouth. They retreat to the bedroom. Cass is wild right now, feral, and Eccarius loves every minute of it. It feels so impossibly good to share this with him. 

The lights were dimmed; only twinkling candelabras provided the room with any illumination. Cassidy didn’t know if Eccarius’ penchant for candles was from any true nostalgia or if he just had a flair for drama and romance. 

Eccarius slips Cass’ suspenders off his shoulders with a single finger, tracing the skin tenderly. He kneels, untying the laces of Cass’ combat boots and pulling them off one by one. His shirt and black jeans follow. As Eccarius undresses him, Cass works at Eccarius’ layers, unbuttoning what feels like garment after garment. 

“Bed. Now,” Eccarius growls. Fuck, Cass knew buying a bed in addition to the coffin would be a good idea. Eccarius kisses him deeply, graceful limbs guiding the Irishman down onto the bed. They kiss and kiss and kiss. Eccarius tilts Cass’ jaw so that he can press his lips to his neck. 

Aroused, Cass winds his fingers in Eccarius’ and flips them over so he can straddle Eccarius’ hips. He cages Eccarius in with his body. Eccarius lets go of him, his hands free to roam Cass’ lower half. He grabs Cass’ arse, kneading it through the stretchy fabric. They make out with a lazy determination. 

Cass gives in, kissing Eccarius harder until he can hear blood pounding intensely. He pushes his hips down and feels the hard length of Eccarius’ member grinding against him. “This what you want?”

Cass pushes Eccarius’ knees up, lowering his head and taking Eccarius’ cock into his mouth. The first touch of his tongue makes Eccarius gasp, his hands searching for purchase. “Please, Cassidy.”

“Please what?”

Cass arches forward. He slides his thumb against Eccarius’ wet bottom lip. Eccarius watches him, entranced, eyes half-lidded and pupils blown. “Touch me,” he begs. Cass slides two fingers into Eccarius’ mouth; he closes his lips around them. Cass kisses him and keeps moving south, leaving a trail of kisses down Eccarius’ body, a body that could rival that of Adonis. He kisses Eccarius’ inner thigh and slips a finger inside him. 

“Another,” he implores.

“Who’s impatient now?” Cassidy grins, putting his mouth back on Eccarius. He never tired of throwing that back in Eccarius’ face. 

Cass adds a second finger and stretches Eccarius on his hand until he’s writhing on the satin sheets. Eccarius arches his hips up and Cass teases him until his hands are desperately grabbing at Cass’ shoulders. 

“Now, please,” Eccarius pants. Cass loves this, loves doing whatever he can to put a chink in Eccarius’ armor, to break him down and see any imperfection in his self-assured, confident exterior. He crawls back up his lover’s body. Eccarius looks up at Cass through enamored eyes and parted lips.

Cass gives him what he wants, pushing in slowly, treacherously. Eccarius’ cheeks flush, turning pink; Cass can’t help but kiss one of his dimples. He pushes in completely. Eccarius’ breath catches in his throat.

Cass’ hands tighten their hold on Eccarius, firmly grasping his hips. Cass fucks him so hard that he claws at the sheets.

Cass bites his lip. “Fuck,” Eccarius pants, much to Cass’ delight, as he rarely uses foul language. Cass must be blowing his mind. 

“You like that,” Cass grins, rocking into him, and Eccarius struggles to answer. “You’re a fucking mess,” he says proudly, taking his jaw in his fingers.

Eccarius turns his face into Cass’ hand, arching his body up in desperation, trying to push back on Cass’ cock. “Don’t hold back,” he begs. Cass licks his palm and jerks Eccarius off, fisting his cock in time with his thrusts until he comes all over his hand. 

Cass groans when he comes a few moments after, lazily falling against Eccarius, dead weight. He pulls out, yet they lay together for several minutes, their hands stroking each other, sweeping idle patterns across arms and shoulders. 

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” Eccarius says, tracing the blood on Cass’ lip with a finger. They’re an unholy mess of blood, sweat, and other bodily fluids. “I’ll be back in a moment,” he says, disappearing into the bathroom to start the shower. He knows Cass likes it hot - he turns it up until it’s scalding and returns for Cass.

“You taste divine,” he says, kissing him before helping him up. Eccarius steers him down the hall. 

“In you go,” he instructs, following Cass into the shower. The water is hot enough to burn.

“Feels good,” Cass murmurs, blood drunk and fucked out. He slips his hands around Eccarius’ waist. The water beats down on them both in a heavy stream.

Eccarius takes a washcloth and wipes it across Cass’ chest, wiping the blood away. The water at their feet is tinged pink where it swirls down the drain. Eccarius scrubs him slowly, carefully, washing away every last drop of blood. Cass keeps an arm around his waist for balance the entire time. 

Eccarius slides the washcloth lower, very low, then tosses it to the edge of the tub. Eccarius takes Cass in his hand and kneels. He slides his lips around the head of Cass’ cock. Cass thrusts into his mouth, fisting his hand in Eccarius’ wet hair. He tightens his hand in the dark curls, eliciting a moan from the man on his knees. “Yer so good,” he breathes, fucking the other vampire’s throat. Eccarius looks up at him through long eyelashes. 

“I’ve had a lot of time to perfect my technique.” 

Cass laughs, curling his toes.

Eccarius makes him come again, swallowing expertly and standing back up so he can kiss Cass underneath the stream of water.

“Yeh realize there’s still a body in our kitchen,” Cass says, coming down a little bit. Eccarius hands him a bottle of conditioner.

“There’s not a body I wouldn’t help you hide.” He kisses Cass. “After I wash my hair, of course.”

*

Eccarius admires his partner from behind. Cass is dressed to kill, wearing a red velvet suit jacket, topped off with a black bowtie.

“I feel like a right fruitcake,” Cass complains. Eccarius steps up to straighten the bowtie.

“And you look like a dream,” Eccarius counters. He’s almost luminous himself. “I’m afraid I cannot permit you to go to the opera in combat boots, _mon oiseau rebelle_. No matter how sexy you look.”

“Well then,” Cass concedes, even though he’s standing a little uncomfortably. “Let’s go before I change my mind.”

“You shouldn’t have bought the tickets if you didn’t want to go,” Eccarius tells him. Eccarius tucks the tickets for _La Damnation de Faust_ into Cass’ lapel pocket. “It’s one night. You can go back to watching Real Housewives reruns and sipping margaritas tomorrow. Try something new.”

“Okay, okay. But I’m taking you dirt bikin’ for our next date,” Cass insists. “Come on. The Uber’s downstairs.”

* 

By the time they return to the flat, it’s the middle of the night. Eccarius is as satisfied as he’ll ever be with Cassidy’s operatic education. Cassidy’s still riding a high from their walk home. Eccarius had snuck behind him and lifted him into the air, raising them both up over the neighborhood and into the night. Weirdly, it never ceased to make Cass both jealous and horny.

Cass pushes Eccarius against the door when they return home, barely giving him time to lock the door behind them and kill the lights. “All the right moves, eh,” Cass says. Eccarius tucks a finger into his bowtie, using it to pull him closer before taking it off completely.

“I thought vampires were immune to pain until the day I thought I might lose you,” a loquacious Eccarius laments, burdened with a sudden honesty. 

Eccarius undresses him slowly, deliberately. He runs his hands up the arms of Cass’ velvet suit coat before taking it off and reverently laying it to the side. He continues with Cass’ tight shirt, sliding it over his shoulders, then takes off his shoes for him. He continues to strip Cass down to his black underwear. He’s already hard.

“Go ahead,” Cass says, sitting down on the sofa and folding his hands behind his head. “Too many buttons for me.”

He watches Eccarius undress himself, making faster work of the buttons and layers than Cass ever could. He licks his lips appreciatively, beckoning for him to continue. Eccarius throws his clothing onto the bean bag chair to be remembered at a later time, a flurry of silk and lace.

Eccarius manhandles a half-naked Cass into his lap on the sofa. Eccarius keeps a firm hand on the back of his neck while they make out, long, dirty kisses that start with tongue and end with Cass whimpering into his dashing lover’s mouth.

Cass unties the silk ribbon holding Eccarius’ hair back. The black waves come loose and flow freely down his shoulders. Cass winds his hands into his hair greedily and kisses his muscled chest.

The heat builds between them. Eccarius captures his mouth, kisses him until he’s dizzy with pleasure. He kisses his jaw, then his throat, feeling Cass’ pulse beat steady under his lips. He nuzzles his nose against Cass’ scruff. 

Eccarius pushes him onto his back on the sofa, peppering kisses across his bare skin. “What do you need?” Eccarius asks, attentive to Cass’ every motion. He could sense Cassidy’s blood pounding.

Cass surrenders, laying back and indulging in the feeling of being wanted. Eccarius peels Cass’ underwear down his hips. He couldn’t help himself. There seemed to be no time to make it to the bedroom. 

Eccarius presses his thumb into Cassidy’s skin, watching a bruise disappear underneath his fingertip. He caresses the memento of his lust before it fades away completely. Bruise forgotten, he slides a finger inside Cass, then another, opening him up. Cass makes a noise in the back of his throat.

“Do you want me to stop?”

“I’ll kill you if you do,” Cass says, frenzied. He steals a sloppy kiss. Eccarius stops fingering Cass and pushes his legs apart, starts to slide his cock into Cass’ arse. He’s so tight. Eccarius moves slowly until he can see Cass’ face start to relax. Eccarius holds him down and pounds into him, and Cass grips Eccarius’ firm arse, tugging him closer. Their ragged breath mingles together.

Eccarius fucks Cass until he’s shaking and unable to form words (a feat Eccarius knows is impressive), until there’s nothing but their two bodies moving together in the night.

Eccarius flips them over, one hand firm underneath Cass, always.

Cass rides him, Eccarius’ hands pawing at his chest as he fucks him with beautiful, reckless abandon. Cass bites his lip, closing his eyes, giving in, letting Eccarius control the pace. He tries to reach a hand down to jerk himself off but Eccarius knocks his hand away. “Not yet,” he murmurs. “So desperate.” Eccarius is going to pull him to the edge and keep him there. “Nice and slow.” He can’t take his eyes off Cass.

“Come for me,” Eccarius says in his deep, attractive voice, and Cass loses it. Eccarius murmurs little encouragements as responses to Cass’ gasps, warm hands moving over his body.

“I won’t be able to walk straight for a week,” Cass laughs later, still trembling, tucking his face against Eccarius’ broad chest.

“So don’t. Stay with me. In bed. For a week.” Eccarius smiles at him fondly. 

“Maybe,” he says. “I don’t know what ye see in me,” Cass admits.

“You have no idea how good you are,” Eccarius tells him, watching him with adoring eyes. He brushes a hand across his cheek. _I’m not_ , Cass thinks, but Eccarius makes him feel so goddamn good he forgets this. 

Eccarius rewrites Cass’ history with every touch of his lips, erasing words like _abomination_ and _arsehole_. He whispers new words (better words) against Cassidy’s skin like they’re prayers, tells him he’s _magnificent_ and _bewitching_ , that he’s a _beautiful creature_.

For the first time in years, the weight of his demons feels lighter somehow.

Daybreak is not far off. The sun begins to rise, a distant and glowing threat at the edge of the horizon. Sunlight starts to peek through the window, filtering inside in a dusty haze. Eccarius rises, moving to the window to adjust the curtains, shutting out the light. The room falls completely black once again, candles having burned out long ago. 

Eccarius finds Cass somewhere amidst the darkness. Eccarius wraps his arms around him, as he so often does, and Cass makes a little noise of pleasure when he feels Eccarius draw him close.

“Sleep,” Eccarius says, capturing his mouth in a kiss. “We have all the time in the world.”


End file.
